The True Origin of the Silver Hand
by DaBigLizzard
Summary: Created for the RPPVP dot com fanfiction contest, this story bridges the continuity gap in Lore between WarCraft 2 and The Burning Crusade.
1. Chapter 1

**The (True) Origin of the Silver Hand.**

"It is hopeless my brothers. Nothing can stop the Horde from conquering Azeroth."

Gasps of shock and dismay arose from the congregation. Archbishop Alonsus Faol bowed his head, letting the echoes of his words roll across the crowd. The great chapel of Stratholme seemed to tremble with a palpable fear. The words were not new. They had been whispered across the cities and villages of Lordaeron for months. But never before had they been spoken aloud by such a high ranking official, much less the actual leader of the Church of the Light.

The volume in the room rose to a fever pitch before Faol grabbed his gavel and slammed it into the podium several times. Silence returned to the room.

"This conclusion does not come easily my brethren. Nor is it made without careful deliberation of all of the facts. But we must open our eyes. Medivh, guardian of Azeroth, has betrayed us. Our greatest sorcerer has formed a pact with evil, and opened a dark portal to another world. Alien, green-skinned orcs now run rampant across all of the southern lands. The kingdom of Stormwind has fallen. Her king slain by the orcish assassin, Garona. The dwarves of Ironforge have been forced back into their mountain cities, giving the enemy warchief, Orgrim Doomhammer, free run over all of Kaz Modan. Here in Lordaeron your cities are overrun with refugees fleeing the devastation. Your good king Terenas has taken us in, and for that we are grateful. But even now we hear rumors that the orcs are constructing a fleet of ships to cross the great sea and attack the towns of Hillsbrad and Southshore.

"Yes, I know Lordaeron has a great army, and many allies. We have wizards from Dalaran, and elven archers from Quel'Thalas. But I am afraid that is not enough. I have seen these fel orcs first hand. Their eyes burn red with magical bloodlust. They have enlisted the aid of our ancient enemies, the forest trolls. From their home world they have brought monstrous two-headed ogres capable of terrible magic. And our spies have reported that the most powerful orcish warlocks can even raise the dead to fight on their side."

"What about our order?" A voice from the crowd cried out. "What about the clerics of the Light."

The magic of the Light is not enough!" Faol answered. "Our spells can mend the flesh and restore the strength of others, but we are no match for the demonic energies of the Horde. My brothers, I am afraid that unless some miracle happens, the human race is doomed.


	2. Chapter 2

Alonsus Faol left the cathedral's great hall feeling old and broken. He was the head of the church of the Light, how could he speak to his flock this way? These people looked to him for hope, and he gave them nothing by despair. But it would be worse to lie to them. The tides of darkness were coming. He needed to prepare the populace. He had seen firsthand the destruction of Northshire and of Stormwind. Now the human kingdoms of Lordaeron, Stromgrade, and Altrec had combined their armies into a grand alliance. Lord Lothar was securing a treaty with Admiral Proudmoore that would bring the mighty navy of Kul Tiras to their side. But it was not enough. Not nearly enough.

An armed guard stood watch outside Faol's quarters. "Let no one disturb me." Alonsus told the man as he stepped through the doorway and closed it behind him. After King Wrynn's assassination Lothar had insisted the archbishop be assigned a bodyguard. But a knife in the back was the least of his worries. Just yesterday word had reached him that the orcs had uncovered a powerful artifact called the Demon Soul. With it, the evil creatures had the power to take control of dragons. Dragons! Just one of those creatures could level a city. The archbishop sat at his writing desk and let his head sink into his hands. He looked within himself for hope, but found none. He had buried it, along with his king and most of his friends in a lost country far to the south.

There was a commotion outside the door. An exchange of words, growing in temper as well as volume. Faol raised his head as the handle on the door turned and the guard's face appeared.

"My apologies your eminence…"

"Who is it?"

"A man calling himself Uther."

"I know no one named Uther. Send him away."

"He claims to have information sire. About some place named Draenor."

Faol's eyes widened in shock. Draenor was the name of the orcs' alien home world. A name revealed only by torture of orcish prisoners, and known to almost no one outside Lothar's inner circle. The archbishop leapt to his feet and pulled the door open wide. It revealed the guard, and standing slightly behind him, Uther.

Uther was a young man, with broad shoulders and thick arms. He wore a chain mail shirt, but did not carry a sword. Instead he casually held a large hammer in his right hand. His hair was brown, his eyes crisp, and his face marked with a broad, thick moustache. He bowed deeply to the archbishop.

"Your eminence." He said. "If you accompany me to the stable, I believe I have found your miracle."


	3. Chapter 3

"We found it in a ditch, south of Corin's Crossing."

Uther, Faol, and the bodyguard stood in the cold and foul smelling stable adjoining the cathedral. It was late, well after sundown, and the building was deserted except for the three men and just less than two dozen horses. There was only a single lantern for light, which Uther had hung from a peg on one of the posts. He then proceeded to a nearby oxcart with a large object in the back. Whatever it was, it was covered with a thick series of blankets and what appeared to be a bearskin. Uther placed his hammer aside, leapt into the cart, and began to unwrap it.

"My father wanted me to join the army when I was old enough." Uther began. "He said I was suited for a soldier's life, being built the way I am. But my heart was never in it. I didn't like unnecessary killing. There's better ways for men to settle their differences than with bloodshed. That's why I tried becoming a cleric. But that wasn't quite for me either. Too much prayer and not enough action, no offense."

"None taken." The archbishop mumbled. To be honest he wasn't even listening to the young man. Several of the blankets had been removed, and his attention was now completely focused on the strange device. "You found it, you said?"

"Not alone, if that's what you're asking." Uther answered. "After I left the clergy I became the sheriff of Corin's Crossing. It's a small town, not much crime to speak of. When I arrived the Mayor was corrupt, but the people there are simple, and pure of heart. I've fought to get their taxes lowered, their abuses reconciled. Over time it seems I won the heats of the local farmers. They trust me, and come to me with their troubles. Three days ago one of the farmers came banging on my door about an hour before dawn. He said there were strange lights in his field. He and I ran out there and this is what we saw."

Uther pulled aside the last of the blankets. Now that the archbishop could see the object, he didn't think he was any closer to identifying it. It was a shapeless mass of silvery metal, about the size of a small cow, and twice as long as it was thick. It's surface was warped and discolored, as though it had been subjected to great heat and stress. There appeared to have been shapes and even writing along its surface, but whatever happened had rounded and melted any hard angles. Clearly visible on it's side were a row of glass buttons, or perhaps fine gemstones of various colors. Several of the smaller ones were glowing faintly, obviously from magic.

"Light be merciful!" Faol exclaimed. His bodyguard took a step backwards. "What is it?"

"The farmer's boy called it 'The Silver Hand.'" Uther answered. "He said it looked like a giant's platemail gauntlet. I figured it was as good a name as any."

The archbishop looked at the glowing gemstones. One of them blinked on and off repeatedly, like a heartbeat. "I've seen stones like this before. The gnomes use them in their engineering."

Uther nodded. Faol looked at the young man. "You don't think it's of gnomish origin?"

"No." Uther responded. "It's a probe, from Draenor."

"How do you know?"

"Because it said so." And with that Uther reached out and touched one fo the gems.

There was a snap followed by an unnatural hissing. Several of the gemstones began to glow brightly. The hissing increased and the great metal object slowly began to float up off the cart. After several seconds it stopped moving and simply floated there, several inches above the discarded blankets.

"Uther?" a voice came from within the device. It sounded distant, as though the speaker was standing at the far end of a long tunnel. The hissing rose and fell with the speaker's voice. "Uther, is that you?"

"I am here Velen." Uther addressed the probe. "I have brought you to the cathedral, like I promised. I am here with the archbishop now."

"Who are you?" Archbishop Faol asked the probe, suddenly very suspicious.

"Be at ease, Archbishop. My name is Velen, and my people are the enemies of the orcs who have invaded your world. We have much to discuss, but first I must ask for your aid. The probe you see before you is badly damaged. Its life force is failing, and soon it will cease to function. Uther tells me that your clerics wield the power of the Light. I must ask you to heal the probe, before it fails completely."

"Heal the..." Alonsus stared at the metal canister with it's blinking lights. "Do you mean this device is alive?"

"No, not exactly." The voice responded. "My people have harnessed the flow of the Light, and we have learned to use it to power our ships and our technology. It is difficult to explain, and we do not have much time."

"My magic has no effect of machines."

"Your eminence, it could be a trick." Faol's bodyguard said. He stepped forward, placing himself between the Archbishop and the alien artifact.

"Sire, if I may." Uther interjected. "I have spoken to Velen at length. He says his people have been ravaged by the orcs, and I believe him. If the probe fails, we may loose our only means of communication with a potential ally. We must take the risk."

Faol looked at the probe, his eyes narrowed. With a bitter laugh, he realized how unlikely it would be that this was a trap. Why would the Horde bother, they were winning the war. Closing his eyes, the archbishop summoned the Light. Glowing energy filled him to the bursting point. Pushing the spell outwards, Antonia's magic soaked into the machine as it would into a dying man. Blinking lights grew solid, and the hissing vanished.

"Thank you, human. The Draenei are in your debt." Velen's voice was stronger now. It still sounded as though it was speaking through a tunnel, but the hissing was almost gone.

"Is the probe fully healed?" Uther asked.

"I am afraid not, but your efforts have bought us some time. A few days. Perhaps a week. Your power to control the Light is astonishing, if somewhat unsubtle."

"The Draenei? Is that the name of your people?" Faol asked.

"Yes. We are wanderers. We have traveled from world to world, fleeing the wrath of the Burning Legion. Over ten thousand years ago we arrived on Draenor, and discovered the orcs."

"You've been at war for over ten thousand years?" Faol gasped.

"No. When we arrived the orcs were peaceful. Their culture and magic gave them an intrinsic understanding of nature and the balance of life. Our two races existed in a amicable peace. Unfortunately the Burning Legion discovered our world and corrupted the orcs. They became savage, bloodthirsty barbarians. Their various tribes united into a vast horde, against which the Draenai's numbers were too few. Now they have devastated my people, and soon we will be forced to leave Draenor or face extinction."

Faol's eyes grew wide as he grasped Velen's meaning. "You wish to use the Dark Portal? You're going to come here? To Azeroth?"

"The portal is too well guarded. My warriors do not have the strength to break through Ner'zhul's defenses. We will find another way to bridge the distance between our worlds. But that is not your concern."

"Velen" Uther began. "What can you tell us about the Burning Legion? You said they control the Horde?"

"Yes." The voice echoed throughout the stables. "They have attacked your world before. You know them as demons. They gave the orcs the secrets of witchcraft and necromancy."

Alonsus frowned. "Those dark arts are what has tipped the battle so heavily in their favor. The king's advisors have even suggested that we create warlocks of our own. I say better to die than adopt such blasphemous ways."

There was a moment of silence from the probe. After a couple of seconds Velen spoke. "Do your people not use the Light against your enemies?"

"Our clerics are taught never to use the Light to attack." Faol answered. "Only to heal and aid others."

"Among the Draenei we have a holy order of warriors who are infused with the Light. They serve both as defenders and healers."

"Warriors wielding the Light?" The archbishop's mind reeled under the thought of the consequences. "Its never been tried before. I don't think it will work. The spells are too intricate to be cast in battle."

"We use a system of seals and condemnations." The probe said. "It is simple to learn and fast enough for use in combat."

"Condemnations..." Uther whispered.

"Perhaps a better word is judgments. The Light is particularly suited towards fighting the Burning Legion. Thousands of years battling Sargeras's minions have taught us which spells can be used with maximum effect."

"Sargeras? Is that the general of the Legion's Army?"

"He was." The probe answered. "Sargeras has fallen in battle. The orcs now work under the direction of his lieutenants Archimonde and Kil'jaeden. I had thought that once Sargeras was gone, his evil influence over my brothers would dissipate. Alas this has not proven to be true."

"Your brothers?" Faol asked.

There was another long pause from the probe. There seemed to be faint voices, as though Velen was speaking to someone else where he was located. After a moment his voice returned. "I will not attempt to deceive you, humans. My people are called 'Draenei' which in our language means 'the exiled ones.' We are outcasts of a race which you may know, the Eredar."

Archbishop Faol gasped and recoiled in horror. "Eredar are the highest order of demons!"

"My people were corrupted..."

"Silence!" Faol yelled. I will hear no more of your lies! Your race is known for your trickery and powers of corruption. I will have nothing more to do with you!"

"Archbishop, please!" Uther pleaded. "Just hear him out!"

"Never!" Faol turned to leave. "Better the human race should perish and the orcs rule the world than to blaspheme ourselves. I was a fool to even listen to you Uther!" And with that the Archbishop stepped out into the street, his bodyguard scrambling to follow.

The cold night air chilled Alonsus instantly. He walked about twenty paces forward and stopped. He was angry, but his anger was directed at himself. He was desperate for a miracle. Desperate for any sign of hope against the Horde. He had almost believed Velen. Almost believed that the probe was indeed sent from the powers above to deliver the humans in their most desperate hour. He looked up at the night sky. The steeple of the chapel was silhouetted against the night sky. Beyond it, the stars shone brilliant and clear in the sky. Alonsus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Closing his eyes, he prayed to the Light for guidance.

After a couple of seconds there was a soft cough behind him. His bodyguard politely stood about five paces away. The man waited there tentatively, not wishing to interrupt the holy man's prayer.

"What is it?"

"Your Holiness..." the guard began. "This Velen person... his words have the ring of truth to them."

"He is a demon!"

"So what? The orcs have accepted the demons' aid. Why shouldn't we? We've seen power struggles within our enemies before. When the orc Doomhammer slew the old warchief Blackhand, the horde was at their weakest. If Velen opposes Archimonde, why shouldn't we..."

The rest of the guard's statement was cut off by a brilliant flash of light. The stables glowed from within as though the sun itself was rising there.

"By the Light, what has he done?" Faol and the guard raced to the door.

Within Uther stood before the probe, his back to the door. The device had opened somehow, and brilliant golden light flared out, bathing Uther in its power. As the archbishop entered, the device dimmed rapidly until the energy failed completely. It hovered for a moment, and then dropped to the ground. It teetered, then fell on it's side with a hollow clang.

"It is done." Uther said. His voice had changed. It was much deeper, more forceful. It resonated from the stable's walls. "I have accepted Velen's offer of aid. The knowledge and teachings of the paladin are within me." He turned slowly. An aura of divine light encircling him.

"Light be merciful." The archbishop stared at Uther in horror. "The demon has corrupted him completely." Faol turned to his bodyguard. "You must kill him!"

"Your eminence, I don't think..."

"NOW!"

The guard drew his sword and charged at Uther. The big man just stood there, taking no action to defend himself. The guard closed in and swung his weapon full force. There was a flash and suddenly Uther was surrounded by a glowing shell of Light. The sword struck it and the metal rang out as though it had hit a wall of stone. It fell to the ground from the guard's nerveless grip. Uther looked at the man, his expression a mixture of pity and concern. "Peace, friend. I will not harm you."

The guard stood for a moment, then looked back at the archbishop.

"His soul is at stake! You must deliver him from the demon's grasp!"

"I assure you." Uther responded. "My mind is my own."

Alonsus's conviction wavered. Uther was calm, and self-assured. His eyes held none of the bloodlust of the orcs. After a couple of seconds the glowing shell faded. He spoke to the bodyguard. "What is your name?"

"Saiden. Saiden Dathrohan."

Uther knelt down and picked up Saiden's sword. Casually he handed it back to him, hilt first. "Here is your blade, Saiden. Know that I serve the king, and I serve the Light. I accepted Velen's offer out of a desire to stop the Horde's murderous rampage. If you truly feel it is your duty to kill me, I will not stop you."

The guard took his sword. He hesitated for a moment, then lowered the point to the ground. Saiden turned to face the archbishop. "I can't do it, sire" he said.

"I know." Faol responded. "I was wrong to ask you to."


	4. Chapter 4

Several hours later Uther's cart pulled to a stop on a small hill south of Stratholme. Uther and Saiden dismounted and began to pull the lifeless remains of the probe from the back of the cart. Archbishop Faol watched the two men lower the empty metal canister to the ground.

"This changes everything." Faol said.

"I know." Uther replied. He took two shovels from the cart's bed and handed one to Saiden.

"And you can empower others with this power, the way the probe empowered you?"

"Yes." Uther answered Faol's question. "With minimal training, and a understanding of the Light."

Faol watched in silence as the two men began to dig. His heart was racing with equal parts hope and fear. Hope that the powers of these holy paladins would be enough to counter the warlocks and undead. Fear that this night was seeing the birth of something far worse than the orcish horde.

"They can't be ordinary soldiers." As if reading the archbishop's mind, Uther spoke. "The temptation to abuse the gifts of the Silver Hand will be enormous. We must find men of faith, each with a powerful sense of justice and honor. Men who will understand that their duty is to use the Light to aid the people."

Saiden's head came up. "I know a man like that. His name is Turalyon. The most selfless man I know, he thinks only of others."

"Aye." Faol nodded. "And I know a couple of knights under Lothar who would make a good fit. Grayson Shadowbreaker and Baron Rivendare are two men who could do it. And the Lord of Hearthglen... what was his name?"

"Tyron" Saiden volunteered.

"You realize," Faol said solemnly. "We can tell no one of Velen. The probe. The Draenei. The true origin of your power. No one can know that Paladins were created using demon knowledge."

Uther stopped digging. "You ask me to found a regiment of warriors dedicated to truth and justice on a lie?"

"Not just a regiment. The elite of Stormwind's army were the Brotherhood of the Horse. That order is gone, scattered to the wind. Your paladins will become the new elite of the united alliance army. Your obedience will not be to Lordaeron, or Altrec, or Stromgrade. It must be to mankind. You will battle evil and injustice in all it's forms. Yours will be a new order. One that will change history forever."

"A new order..." Uther's eyes fell upon the open canister. He smiled. "The Order of the Silver Hand."


End file.
